


A Light that Endures

by dearfriendicanfly



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gift Giving, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, someday i'll actually know enough about tags to put more specific ones on these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearfriendicanfly/pseuds/dearfriendicanfly
Summary: As Sam walked home from the market, arms loaded with groceries, he passed by Bag End. It was a cool day in late September, just the sort of day when Mr. Bilbo would normally be seen blowing smoke rings from his porch. And normally, Sam would have said hello, and perhaps even stopped to sit and chat a while with the old hobbit. But these were not normal days.Bilbo is gone, and he has left both Sam and Frodo with a heavy weight to carry.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Sam Gamgee, Frodo Baggins & Merry Brandybuck, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	A Light that Endures

As Sam walked home from the market, arms loaded with groceries, he passed by Bag End. It was a cool day in late September, just the sort of day when Mr. Bilbo would normally be seen blowing smoke rings from his porch. And normally, Sam would have said hello, and perhaps even stopped to sit and chat a while with the old hobbit. But these were not normal days.

Instead of Bilbo, Sam thought he saw a glimpse of Mr. Frodo's dark mop of a head in the window. Despite the autumn chill, the window was open, and if Sam called out, Frodo surely would have heard him. He considered it for a moment, standing in the lane and shifting uncertainly from one foot to another. But in the end, Sam turned away sadly and continued down Bagshot Row. He couldn't think of anything to say that would have cheered up the new master of Bag End.

When he got home, to Sam's surprise, his father greeted him at the door, proudly showing off a new woolen waistcoat.

"Well, Sam?" said the old Gaffer, drawing himself up impressively. "What d'you think?"

"It suits you, dad!" Sam cried. "Wherever did you get it?"

"Mr. Bilbo left it to me!" 

Sam winced slightly at the word _left,_ but he forced a smile as he set the groceries down at the table and admired his old man's new threads. "That was kind of him."

"Mr. Bilbo was always kind. A real gentlehobbit, as I always said. He left us two sacks of potatoes from his garden, too, Sam! And a real nice note, sayin' how it's only right, seein' as he was always askin' me for my _expert_ advice on potatoes. And he even got me a new spade, and some ointment for my old bones! A real gentlehobbit, Mr. Bilbo was." The old man sniffed and squinted against a rogue tear pricking his eye at the thought of his friend. Sam reached out and rubbed his back soothingly, but the Gaffer quickly pulled himself together and waved Sam off.

"Quit yer fussin' and put that coat back on, Sam. Mr. Frodo told me to send you over soon as I could."

"To Bag End? What for?"

"Well, I don't rightly know. He said he wanted to talk with you, and not much more. I think you oughta hurry along, Sam. He seemed a little..." The old Gaffer's voice trailed off and he sighed. "Well, it ain't my place to guess at what goes on in that head of his. But go on, don't keep him waitin' any longer. He asked for you hours ago!"

And so Sam hurried as fast as his feet would carry him back down the row to Bag End. When he came to the door, he knocked gently, and heard Frodo call from the window, "It's open!"

Sam had seen Merry, one of the Brandybucks from across the river, coming in and out of Bag End for days— helping Mr. Frodo take care of Mr. Bilbo’s affairs, according to his old Gaffer. But when Sam walked in through the open door, he found Frodo alone, sitting in Bilbo’s favorite chair and staring blankly out the window into the garden. The pale evening light seemed to catch on all the creases of Frodo’s face, and though it had only been a few days since he came of age, he already looked so weary that Sam’s heart broke for him.

“This day feels like it’ll never end,” Frodo sighed as Sam walked in. But when he looked up, he was startled and even sheepish. “Sam! Goodness, I thought you were Merry come back from the Proudfoots’ place!”

“No, sir, just me,” Sam said, turning a little red. “Sorry to bother you, it’s just my old man said you wanted to—”

“To speak with you, yes. And don’t be silly, you could never be a bother. Can’t say the same for a few other people who’ve come round today,” Frodo sighed. “But come in! Have a seat at the table and I’ll go fetch it for you.”

What _it_ could be, Sam hadn’t the slightest inkling. But he did as he was told and sat at the dining table while Frodo hurried off down the hall.

Alone, Sam felt the autumn chill keenly as it blew in through the window. The house was by no means empty, but Sam had come to know Bag End well enough to notice all the empty spaces on the shelves, the desk, the windowsills. Chests that once were full of various knick-knacks and _mathoms_ sat emptied on the floor, and even one of the bookshelves was missing from its corner. Though Bilbo had always been a generous old hobbit and giving extravagant gifts was hardly unusual for him, something about the slow emptying of Bag End made Sam’s heart sink. To him, this would always be dear old Mr. Bilbo’s house, and yet so little of Bilbo was now left in it.

 _That’s the desk where Mr. Bilbo taught me my letters,_ he thought, _and the window where I would sit and watch my dad tend the sunflowers._ Everywhere he looked, he saw the ghost of a childhood memory— listening to Bilbo’s stories by the fireplace, playing with Frodo and his younger cousins in the halls, curled up and dozing in an armchair while Bilbo and his father talked in voices hushed by night-quiet and nostalgia. In every memory, Bilbo remained unchanged; a young face masking an impossibly old soul.

A part of Sam had always taken it for granted that by the time he took over his father’s job in the garden, Bilbo would still be here in Bag End, looking just the same as he did when the Gaffer was a young boy. The old hobbit’s sudden departure weighed heavily now on Sam’s heart. He never even got to say goodbye.

“Sam?”

The voice startled him so badly that he nearly fell right out of his chair. Frodo stood in the doorway to the dining room, biting back a smile. Sam cleared his throat and hoped that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “S-Sorry, Mr. Frodo, did you say something?”

“Oh, nothing important. But here, this is what I called you here for.” Frodo held out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, with a tag that read in Bilbo’s familiar spindly hand: _Samwise Gamgee._

“F...For _me,_ sir?”

Frodo laughed, hearty and fond. “Well, _I_ don’t know any other Sam Gamgee’s around these parts, do you?”

“N-No, ‘course not,” Sam mumbled, flushing deeper still. “Silly of me… I just wasn’t expecting— I mean, Mr. Bilbo already left something for my family, so I thought—”

“He left two packages for you _and_ your father,” Frodo smiled. “After all, he’s always been very fond of you both. I suppose I could have given this to the old Gaffer to pass along to you, but I confess I wanted to see you open it. Here, don’t forget to read the card as well!”

Frodo pressed the package into Sam’s hands, practically beaming now. How curious, Sam thought. Just minutes ago, Frodo had looked downright miserable. Now, his face was alight with a joy that Sam hadn’t seen on him since before Bilbo vanished.

Hesitantly, perhaps even a little shy, Sam plucked the card off the package.

 _For Master Samwise,_ it read, _who always enjoyed tall tales, in the hopes that he will continue to do so, from Bilbo._

Sam glanced up at Frodo, a question on his lips, but even Sam wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to ask. Frodo just nodded encouragingly, so Sam swallowed and started to unwrap the parcel. When he peeled away the paper, what he found was a small leatherbound book— the sort of notebook that Bilbo had always been fond of. It was a deep blue shade, embroidered with silver thread, and Sam recognized it immediately. He had once seen it sitting on Bilbo’s desk and commented on how lovely it must be to write in.

“Bilbo was interested in translating some of the old tales he heard from the elves,” Frodo explained. “He’s been working on it on and off for a few years along with his other book, and I have no doubt that he’s continuing that work now… wherever he is… But he made a copy of some of it in this book, just for you, Sam. And slipped in a few poems and tales of his own, I expect! I haven’t looked through it, but I know that this is the gift he was most excited about.”

With a trembling hand, Sam opened the cover. On the first page was a short dedication.

_Dedicated to Samwise Gamgee, who always had such a keen ear for my silly old stories, and who I have no doubt will someday be one of the Shire’s most renowned poets. Take care, Master Samwise._

“He also told me,” Frodo continued, “that he wanted you to have first pick of his empty journals. He liked to collect them, you know, and since you always seemed to admire them, he thought—”

Frodo’s voice faltered as Sam ducked his head and quickly rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. Not quick enough— Frodo saw those tears in Sam’s eyes. His kind, sad eyes.

“S-Sorry,” Sam sniffled, his voice muffled in his sleeve, “I know it’s silly of me, it’s just— it feels so much like a goodbye present, and I… I don’t understand it… To think we may never see him again…”

“Oh, Sam…” For a moment, Frodo couldn’t find a single word of comfort in his heart. A part of him wanted to break down and cry, too. For days and days, he had wanted nothing more. He was tired, and he missed his uncle more than he ever thought possible.

But the moment passed, and he somehow found the strength to carry on a little longer. He moved to sit beside Sam, laying a gentle hand on his back. “I don’t entirely understand it, either,” he said softly. “But what I know is that Uncle Bilbo loved the Shire, in his way, and still does. And he loves us, as well. I’m sure that wherever he’s gone, it’s simply because… that’s where he needs to be. Nothing more or less. And besides,” he smiled, “I’ve got a feeling that we haven’t seen the last of him yet.”

Sam nodded, still wiping his face and trying to pull himself together. “Y-You’re right, o’ course. Beggin’ your pardon for making such a mess of myself.”

Frodo smiled a little sadly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. “No, it’s… it’s all right, Sam. Please don’t apologize. It may be selfish, but it gives me comfort to know that Bilbo is so dear to you. I was starting to feel quite… lonely, to be honest.” 

Sam wiped his eyes and blew his nose as quietly as he could— which is to say, not very quietly at all, but Frodo said nothing of it. “Lonely, sir?”

“Just a little. I suppose I’m just surprised at how few people here truly knew him, after all these years… In a way, I can understand why he left. It’s hard to put into words, but I think a part of him must have felt terribly sad and old.”

Sam eyed Frodo closely. In truth, Sam could understand exactly what Frodo meant. Before Bilbo left, there had been times when Sam caught a glimpse of the old and weary hobbit behind the youthful face— a glassy stare, a shuddering sigh, shoulders that collapsed on themselves like a puppet cut from its strings. He had thought often that it seemed like Bilbo was carrying around a terrible weight, and it was wearing him to the bone.

 _Perhaps that really is why he left,_ Sam thought. _To shed that weight. Maybe he’s happier now, wherever he is._

And yet, something in Sam’s heart turned cold and sick as he watched Frodo stare out into the garden, looking deeply tired.

But then, Frodo suddenly brightened up, turning to Sam with a smile. “But enough of all this gloomy talk. There’s a reason I wanted to talk to you in person. I hope you know that you’re always welcome to drop by Bag End whenever you like! Bilbo is not the only one who’s grown terribly fond of you, Sam. I should like very much to hear you tell me about the stories in your book. Perhaps someday, you’ll even share some verses of your own with me.”

And even when Frodo smiled so warmly — warm enough to make Sam blush, in fact — that odd feeling just wouldn’t go away. Something seemed to weigh Frodo down and make him appear fuzzy around the edges, as if he was in danger of disappearing right before Sam’s eyes.

It stirred something deep in Sam’s heart. It was something that he would not be able to put a name to for many, many years. But he felt it as strongly in that moment as he would when he held Frodo in his arms at the end of the world.

“...I’d like that very much,” Sam said quietly, no longer feeling shy in the least. “And if there’s ever anything you need, or… if you’re just feelin’ lonely, I hope you know you can call on your Sam.”

Perhaps it was something in Sam’s simple promise, or something about the way the waning sunlight caught in his warm, kind eyes. For whatever reason, Frodo’s eyes widened just a little, his back slowly straightening as if some of that terrible weight had been lifted off him. A light seemed to shine from within him, far warmer and stronger than the pale dusk, and Sam no longer feared that he would vanish.

“...You are very kind, Sam,” Frodo said, eyes twinkling with a bit of humor. “Perhaps you would be kinder still and stay for dinner tonight with Merry and I? Frankly, one could go mad being cooped up with only him for company for too long.”

“That goes double for you, Mad Baggins the Younger,” Merry called, poking his head into the dining room and startling Sam and Frodo. “Do you hear that, Sam? That’s the thanks I get for walking all the way to the other side of Hobbiton and back to run errands for this ungrateful lout.”

“Walk to the Brandywine and back, next time, and maybe I’ll be grateful,” Frodo grinned. “And have you ever heard of knocking?”

Merry came over and knocked on Frodo’s forehead. “I’m home! And I’m starving.”

“All right,” Frodo laughed, waving Merry off, “a deal’s a deal. I’ll cook up some dinner… for three?”

“If it won’t put you out, Mr. Frodo.”

“Don’t worry, Sam. If there’s not enough, you can just have Merry’s plate!”

Merry shook his head as Frodo headed to the kitchen. “He gets his manners from the Baggins side, I tell you.”

Of course, Frodo had more than enough for the three of them. They ate their fill, talking and laughing and reminiscing long into the night. The world outside their windows grew dark and cold, but in their little circle of firelight, the hobbits were warm. They drew close to the hearth and to each other, and paid no mind to the approaching winter. They had no doubt that they would weather it.

All night and into the early hours of the morning, they talked. And slowly, all the signs of care and age were smoothed from Frodo’s face in the flickering light of the hearth. The weight of his loss was still heavy, but he no longer felt that he bore it alone. And Sam and Merry’s hearts were lightened to see him, practically glowing in the night.

At some point, the first pale rays of sunlight crept in through the windows, and Sam began to doze. He curled up in the armchair as he had done many times as a child, listening to Frodo and Merry talk in hushed voices about the past and the future. As he drifted off to sleep, Sam had the feeling that even as one part of their lives was coming to an end, a new one was beginning. And at the center of it would be Frodo Baggins, his heart told him. He had no complaints.

When Sam started to snore, Frodo smiled fondly and went to fetch a blanket from the guest room. He tucked it gently around Sam’s shoulders, careful not to wake him. Merry watched with a knowing glimmer in his eye.

"You are very sweet on Sam," Merry said softly as Frodo sat back down beside him on the rug with another blanket for the two of them.

"He's easy to be sweet to," Frodo laughed. "Always has been..."

Merry hummed in agreement and curled up sleepily against Frodo's side beneath the blanket. "You won't find a finer friend in all the Shire than Sam, that's for certain."

"Not even you, Merry?"

" _Certainly_ not, dear cousin. I'm only here to be a nuisance, you know."

"And you do it splendidly."

Within a couple of minutes, Merry was sleeping soundly against Frodo's side, and Frodo felt himself starting to drift as well. On his other side, Sam's hand was hanging down from the armchair right beside him.

He reached out and took Sam's hand in his own, and laid his head on Merry's shoulder, and fell asleep feeling warm and beloved.

* * *

When Sam woke, he was surprised to find Frodo still holding his hand.

 _How strange,_ he thought, _but I don't mind at all._ Still, he must have stirred or made some noise as he woke, because he saw Frodo yawn and blink the sleep from his eyes.

"Hullo, Sam," he murmured, shifting a bit more comfortably against Merry. He yawned again, and this time he must have truly woken, because he started at the sight of Sam's hand in his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Sam, looking a little red around the ears. Sam opened his mouth to say something— perhaps an apology or an assurance that he didn't mind, or both— but all that came out was a funny, almost panicked kind of laugh. Too late, he realized that he probably should have just let go of Frodo's hand.

But Frodo laughed, too, quiet and awkward, and with that crooked smile, he almost looked like a tween again. Sam felt his cheeks burn at the sight of him. Mercifully, Frodo let go of his hand with a gentle squeeze and turned instead to face him, careful not to wake Merry.

"How long have you been up?" Frodo whispered.

"Oh, just a moment or two. Sorry if I woke you."

"Not at all, Sam. I shouldn't sleep too late, anyway. Merry and I have our work cut out for us today."

"What kind of work?"

"Delivering gifts, fielding nosy neighbors, hiding from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins... You know, the usual." Frodo smiled as he said it, but just the thought of it seemed already enough to exhaust him.

"...Maybe if you had another pair of helping hands," Sam suggested slowly, "then you could relax for the morning?"

Frodo's eyes widened. "Oh, Sam, I couldn't—"

"I don't mind it," Sam said hurriedly. "And my old Gaffer won't miss me if it's just for today. Matter of fact, he was worried about you. It'd probably ease his mind to know I was with you, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo laughed at that, and the warmth of it bubbled in Sam's chest. "Well, if it's for the _Gaffer's_ sake, then of course you must. You win, we'll let Merry sleep a while longer."

Sam smiled, such a smile that Frodo had to pretend to adjust the blanket around his and Merry's shoulders to hide his telltale face.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, somewhere between dozing and simply enjoying the quiet morning. Through the window, they could hear the songbirds starting up in earnest, making themselves at home in the garden. The song must have lulled Frodo back into a short sleep, because when he woke up again, Sam's nose was buried in a book.

"Is that the one from Uncle Bilbo?"

Sam nodded, and it took some effort for him to tear his eyes away from the story. "It is. He's got a pretty way with words, that Mr. Bilbo. 'Course, I've already heard plenty of his songs and rhymes and such, so you'd think it wouldn't surprise me. But this is a little different, I think."

"Mm... What are you reading?"

"The tale of Beren and Lúthien."

"Ah... I remember that one well." Frodo leaned his head against the arm of the chair, and his eyes became dreamy as he recalled those long nights by the fire with Sam and all his young cousins, listening to Bilbo's stories. He could almost hear Bilbo's voice now, strong and warm and full of laughter. "Would you read it to me, Sam?"

"O-Oh... I don't mind, but— well, I'm not as good at tellin' stories as Mr. Bilbo."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Frodo said, eyes twinkling. "Bilbo wouldn't leave that book to just anyone, you know."

Sam opened his mouth to make some polite denial, but no words came to him. He glanced back down at the book, and his eyes went a little sad at the corners. He held it as if it were something precious and heavy. 

After a moment, Sam took a deep breath and began to read— a little awkwardly, but determinedly. 

" _Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days,_ " he read, " _there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures._ "

As Sam told the story, a curious feeling came over Frodo. In spite of Sam's shyness, there was something in the telling that was unmistakably _Sam._ For a while, Frodo couldn't put a name to it. But even as Sam described the anguish that Beren and Lúthien shared, his voice gentle and soft with pity, it came to Frodo: it was hope.

After a while, Frodo began to watch rather than to listen. In the early morning light, Sam looked a little strange. Or perhaps it was Frodo who was strange— when he looked at Sam, it was as if he meant to capture the image: framed just right by a halo of pale sunlight, his face looking older and wiser than it ought to. It was almost like catching a glimpse of the kind little hobbit's future, and Frodo thought, _I should like to be there to see it._

Sam's eyes flitted to Frodo so briefly that Frodo might have thought he had mistaken it, if not for the slight flush of his cheeks. His hand tapped a bit restlessly on the cover of the book as he read, " _Beyond his hope she returned to him where he sat in darkness, and long ago in the Hidden Kingdom... she laid her hand in his._ "

And as Frodo bit back a smile, there was another feeling besides embarrassment that swelled in his chest. A light that seemed to reach into every corner of that huge and empty house. And at the center of it was Sam, with his red face and his quiet voice and warm, gentle hands.

* * *

On Sam's way home that afternoon, he glanced back to Bag End and saw Frodo sitting in the window, a smile on his face as he waved goodbye. This time, Sam called out to him.

"I'll be back soon, Mr. Frodo!"

And that simple promise was enough to lift Frodo's spirits sky high.

**Author's Note:**

> (I want you all to know that Merry was definitely awake while Sam was reading that story to Frodo and was just dead inside)
> 
> Well, I might come back to this sometime in the future and polish it more or turn it into a longer story, but for now I kind of just like it as it is and wanted to archive it haha, I hope it's a fun read all the same. I just [clenches fist] have a lot of feelings about Bilbo and Sam and also about those lines from Beren and Lúthien.... and about Frodo being described in the books as having a light shining stubbornly from within him even when he was at the end of his rope........ yeah.
> 
> Ty especially to everybody who commented such nice things on my other little gay hobbit drabbles, I've been having fun with them :')


End file.
